Prayer
by Artemisdesari
Summary: Castiel is missing, pressumed, well, missing. Dean is having nightmares, are the two connected? See Author's note for more. Warning: little bit of torture.
1. Chapter 1

_Wow, just finished the last one and I have this to offer. A companion piece to The Hand of Sorrow (shameless plug) but you don't really need to have read that for this to make sense. Some people wanted to know what Dean was up to during the course of the afore mentioned and my twisted brain was only too happy to comply. Again, there is only Destiel here if you need your eyes testing so squint a bit, maybe eat some chocolate and look at it in the mirror but there is always the potential, because this is me. _

_Lyrics throughout are from Disturbed's Prayer_

_**Disclaimer:** I own neither song nor show, I'm playing with it, and I promise that I will return them only mildly damaged. Well, I _say_ mildly..._

Prayer.

_**Another dream that will never come true  
Just to compliment your sorrow  
Another life that I've taken from you  
A gift to add on to your pain and suffering**_

_**Another truth you can never believe  
Has crippled you completely  
All the cries you're beginning to hear  
Trapped in your mind and the sound is deafening**_

Dean does not sleep much anymore, has not slept properly for a long time. Even before he had taken what he had thought was a one way ticket to Hell, sleep had been a rare and precious commodity, no matter how much he teased Sam about it. It stands to reason, now, that he has not slept much since his return, going to bed with his boots and clothes still on, ready to run if he needs to, even if he really does not need to, just ready to get away from the sorrowful eyes and worried stares. Since he has not been getting much in the way of sleep, Dean has started to think a great deal, long into the dark, lonely hours when he would give anything to have a bit of company, even in the form of Castiel. Especially the angel, because sometimes, just sometimes, the dreams of Hell and torment and despair disappear, and Dean will find himself fishing, or eating pie, or anyone of a number of mundane things that he never really gets time to do anymore and the angel is always there, watching, sometimes with a half smile on his lips, sometimes with a face as blank as fresh sheet of paper, but always there. Always watching. Always guarding.

Dreams are not the only places that he has seen the angel of course, there was always the visits that were 'seal this' and 'apocalypse that' and on the odd occasion, when Sam had once again snuck out to see Ruby and do whatever it was that they did together at night, and if Cas had nothing better to do, the angel would just drop by. Not so much to say 'hi' of course, that not being the angel's way, but to bolster Dean's moral and seemingly to remind him that he was not alone. Although Dean has always known that he really is and now he is fairly certain that there will be no more of those visits anyway, not now that Sam has let Lucifer out of his cage.

The first time Dean realises something is not quite right is in one of his dreams. He and Cas are sat in a park somewhere, it could be any one of a number of such places that Dean has seen through the years, and for some reason, under the trees and basking in the dappled light that filters through the trees, they are playing chess. Dean has _never_ played chess in his life, but here he is, with Castiel patiently teaching him, playing chess and finding it to be a nice way to pass the time, enjoying the only battle that he will ever fight in where it does not matter if he loses, because if he does, when he does, they can reset the board and start again. He likes that, no pressure. Cas has been staring at the board for a while now, like he is trying to think of his next move even though Dean knows that the angel has always been a little ahead of him.

"Cas?" He tries to get the angel's attention, is startled by the change when he finally _does_ look up.

"Dean?" He tilts his head with the question, something like fear in the usually expressionless eyes. "Help me," the edge of desperation in the angel's voice makes Dean wince, shaking him a little more towards reality "please, help me."

"How? Cas, what?" But the frightened, real life Castiel is gone, the dream Cas is back and his piece is moved and he is berating Dean for not paying attention to the game. The strange, real Castiel does not come back that night.

The second time that Dean gets the feeling something is not quite right is when he finally notices that Castiel has failed to turn up for three weeks, there has been the dreams, and the daydreams and Dean has put those down to the fact that he has a lot on his mind and he just needs some way to unwind after another fruitless day of searching. Sure it had been annoying when Castiel had popped in every few days to send them off after another seal, or _away_ if he felt there was reason for it, but now there is no sign of the guy and against Dean's better judgement that absence has him worried about the angel.

The third time is in a dream again, except that this one has come to Dean after a particularly loud and angry argument with Sam, what was new there anyway, and he had collapsed onto the bed after Sam had gone out to get some air, hand resting on the scar that Castiel had given him that has been throbbing for days and making him unbelievably short tempered for the better part of a week. He lies and rubs at it thoughtlessly, silently cursing the angel and his lack of presence and the general lack of appearances since he had faced off against the archangel and is it just that Castiel does not _care_ anymore? He falls asleep, though he does not realise it, he is clutching the scar in the shape of a hand far more tightly than he believes he is capable of. It is dark in this dream and he fears for a long time that he has returned to the nightmares of Hell, that he is going to be alone and unwanted again and a part of him starts to struggle against the sleep.

"Dean," there is no way that he would not have recognised that voice, not even if all the armies of Hell had screamed over the top of it, he would have known the voice anywhere. Castiel. "Dean," his name again, a cry of distress that cuts at the hunter's soul and he turns, follows the voice through the darkness until he comes to a dimly lit corner and there is Castiel, on a table of iron, legs and arms bound and the ground around it is covered by strange, warped symbols.

"Cas!" He reaches his hands to the table without thinking, is beyond surprised when they sink straight through the angel. "What's going on, Cas?"

"Help me, Dean," the angel begs and there is real fear in his eyes then, fear Dean has never dared to believe that he would see. "Help...." his plea is cut off by a raw and gut wrenching scream and his chest seems to light up, burning with a mark that looks a little familiar if not entirely so and as the brilliance of it begins to burn out his retinas he feels hands tugging him back into wakefulness.

"Dean, Dean!" Sam sounds almost panicked and the elder Winchester can hear screaming, _his_ screaming, his own throat tender and sore from his cries that it would seem are in tune with those of Castiel.

The final clue, is not so much a clue, it is a simple, outright confirmation of what Dean has already come to suspect. Castiel is missing, presumed lost and there is not a damn thing that any of the angels are going to bother to do about it because, as Zachariah puts it, they "have more pressing concerns than an angel who can not watch over a charge without giving in to temptation." Which bugs Dean more than he wants to admit when the only reason for Zachariah to be there is to introduce them to a new angel so that she, apparently, does not get stabbed or shot or any one of a number of other things that the Winchesters are known to do to the unknown when it turns up in their motel room of its own accord. An angel that is apparently there to watch them and make sure that Dean does not get himself killed or maimed before he can do the inevitable and kill Lucifer, at least, not until it is exactly when they want him to.

He looks her over while her boss is still in the room, has come to the conclusion, rather too rapidly, that he can see why she has been the one chosen as their new messenger. She is small, skinny and short, with brown hair that is pulled back off her face in a messy bun that is more haphazard and flighty, than thought out or prepared. Her eyes are grey, pale and as emotionless as Castiel's so often were, down turned in what is probably respect for her boss but at least she is less sombrely dressed, even if it is not practical for their line of work, a knee length black skirt and a sky blue tunic top that is cinched high with a wide belt just above her waist, giving a figure that should seem flat, an hourglass that Dean would normally be pleased to look at, if there was not all the worry that he is able to feel for Castiel coiling tight in his belly. Her name, they are told, is Seraphiel, and they were to treat her with more respect than they treated Castiel with, because even though they need Dean, her orders regarding Sam are a little more ambiguous, pretty much in line with the orders that Uriel spouted about being given, and if she needs to she can be rid of Sam just as quickly as she pleases, because Sam has served his purpose now anyway. Which should worry Dean more than it does, but there is still all that worry about Castiel.

When Zachariah and their new friend have gone, Dean allows himself to collapse on the bed. Sam knows enough to know that Dean feels guilty about Castiel, because the angel can never get a break, and because he pulled Dean out of Hell, had turned his back on Heaven to help Dean, and that counts for an awful lot in the Winchester book of good deeds to be rewarded with tolerance if not complete friendship and trust.

"We'll find him, Dean," Sam promises, and Dean wishes that he could believe his brother. Wishes that they were not stuck with this angel who seems to be nothing more than a wall flower and wishes that he had Castiel back, because he _trusts_ Cas, and he _likes_ him and wherever he is now, Dean is certain that it is _his_ fault that he is there.

_**Let me enlighten you  
This is the way I pray  
Living just isn't hard enough  
Burn me alive inside  
Living my life's not hard enough  
Take everything away**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	2. Chapter 2

_Another day, another chapter. I need to thank everyone who has read, those who reviewed and those who alerted. You'll be pleased to know that I actually got the final chapter written today, so there will be no breaks due to writers block, it will all be up by the end of the week. Again, this is the companion piece to The Hand of Sorrow, you don't have to of read it but it might give you a different perspective on the fic._

_**Another nightmare about to come true  
Will manifest tomorrow  
Another love that I've taken from you  
Lost in time on the edge of suffering**_

Dean is dreaming again, knows that he is dreaming because he is in a room with damp walls and cold air, the only light is a single bulb suspended from a low ceiling made of stone, or something similar. The walls have been drawn on, in what looks vaguely like blood and even though Dean has dreamed of Hell and remembers it, it takes a unique type of mind set to use the blood of yourself or your victim to draw intricate and vaguely familiar symbols on the walls and ceiling. To his hunter's eyes, those symbols and diagrams look like traps, but not the devil's traps that he is so familiar with. They are different and even in his dreams they make his skin crawl as he walks through them, a sound reaching his ears for the first time, distant at first, as a pair of figures become visible under the light. The colours are all too sharp in that muted light, blood all too red, skin too pale beneath it, hair too dark....

Dean stops thinking, realises what he is seeing here, in this terrible moment as steel flashes and the standing figure bends over the one lying prone on the table. Dean is here again, this place where Castiel is being tortured and Dean cannot do anything other than watch, cannot do anything other than scream himself hoarse with each pained cry that falls from Castiel's lips, each denial, each time he whispers Dean's name. Dean does not want to watch, does not want to see, wants only to know why his mind is showing him these things. Is it some sort of twisted desire left over from his time in Hell? Is it his fears for the safety of the angel manifesting into images of torture? Or is this all real, is he linked with Castiel somehow? He wants answers, cannot give them to himself, is helpless as Castiel begins to scream once more, as his own mouth opens to shout, feeling strong arms wrap around him, a voice calling his name and he is fighting, fighting to stay, fighting to leave, he is not certain which is more true. Needs to bare witness to this terrible ordeal that Castiel is enduring, wants nothing more than to scrub the image from his mind.

Eventually the pulls and the voice become too much. Dean is pulled from this place of nightmares and dragged kicking and screaming, literally, into the real world. A real world where they are not alone and there is an angel stood at the end of his bed while Sam holds him in place, her grey eyes staring straight into him, demanding an answer to a question that she does not ask. He finds her stare discomforting and looks away, there is no poorly hidden warmth there, not like Castiel had occasionally shown. Dean hopes that she has come to him with news of Castiel, the dreams of his torture leaving him shaken and more than a little afraid, but he knows that the hope is a foolish one.

Instead she begins to talk about Lucifer, his movements, the gatherings of his army and all the while her voice is flat and dispassionate. If Dean did not know that the angels have every intention of winning this battle then he would think that she simply does not care. Perhaps she does not, she is only one of the 'grunts' after all, one of the foot soldiers that Zachariah will have been careful to make sure has no idea about the truth behind the Apocalypse, that her superiors will have helped to facilitate this turn of events because they want to do away with the curse that is humanity and bring in a paradise that is theirs to command. Not Dean's idea of a good time certainly, not Sam's either, who still has not stopped apologising for his part in all of this by the way, but they are stuck with this now, this turn of events brought about by ignorance and sheer, blind, fanaticism.

Dean half listens to her talk, half lets his thoughts ramble along, trying to think of a way to get her to help them, trying to find a way... his mind is derailed by her next sentence.

"Unofficially I am here to ask you to help me find my brother," Dean sits up straight, actually taking an interest in something for the first time in weeks, because she can only mean Castiel, he is the only other angel that they know who she can possibly believe they might have an interest in finding. Sam beats him to the punch, asking questions, making demands and Dean can see the angel tensing, see the way that she stiffens in the same way that Uriel, Zach _and_ Cas all did when Dean was getting too pushy, too cocky, a threat in the way that she is holding herself. Why them? Can she not do it on her own? It seems, though, that it is not Sam that she needs, not Sam that she is interested in, because she brushes him off like nothing more than an annoying fly and turns all of her attention to Dean, grey eyes intent, wide, _trusting_ and that is something that Dean has never thought he would see in the eyes of any other angel but Cas. She _trusts_ that he will help her to find her missing brother, has a sort of warped faith in him. It scares Dean.

"What do you need me to do?" Dean asks, because even if he does not like her, even if he does not completely trust her, she wants to help, says that she wants to help and where Castiel is concerned, that is good enough for Dean. He wants Cas back, wants that solidity and that faith and the security of knowing that there is at least one more person on _his_ side rather than one of the others, neither of which look all too appealing at the moment.

When she says that to find Castiel she needs to get into Dean's _dreams_, however, well, there and then Dean's desperation to help sort of goes _down_ a bit. Those dreams, those dreams of him and Castiel and the easy friendship and the respect and undisguised _bond_ that they seem to have, well, those are precious, _private_, not even _Sam_ knows about them, and that is saying a lot for how private they are, the feeling that if he tells Sam they will lose some of their peace somehow. She knows what he is thinking, she is an angel, they seem to have this really annoying ability to read minds and she breathes a sigh, a delicate huff of air that is at once a little _too_ human and at the same time, just _weird_,_ alien_ in a way that makes Dean's skin creep just a little.

So she knows about the dreams, knows about them all, because it turns out that they were her idea, a way for Cas to come to understand Dean a little better and that just feels like a kick to the gut, that they were thought of to give Castiel a way to manipulate Dean more than he already was. Except to listen to the way that Seraphiel talks about the dreams, that may not be all there is to it, like she thinks that they continued for too long, like she thinks that _they_ are why Castiel became so easy to taint and to turn, because he became too _involved_ with a dreaming _idea_ of Dean. Which makes everything about ten times worse. Sure, the dreams are private, the good ones, and the bad ones, well, Dean is not really sure he wants anyone to see those either, because those remind him too much of Hell and sometimes, when he gets a glimpse of the man stood over Castiel, he looks too like a younger version of Dean himself. Looks too young to be doing this sort of thing and Dean fears that it is just the part of him left in Hell trying to make a come back. So he shakes his head and backs away ducking out of reach of the magic fingers and ignoring Sam's confused puppy face as he babbles nonsense about there being nothing in his head but girls and pie and knows that she does not believe him, that _Sam_ does not believe him, and wonders how he got himself into this mess.

The thing about Seraphiel, Dean realises later, is that once she has started talking she does not stop, that she has obviously spent more time _watching_ and _listening_ to humans than Castiel did before the assignment because she knows _all_ of the right things to say. Things about Dean obviously valuing his privacy more than the life of his angel, that Castiel betrayed Heaven for Dean and should he not be falling over himself to help. A seemingly endless, cold litany of reasons for Dean to do this and all of them lumping the blame for the fact that Castiel is missing squarely on Dean's shoulders. So when Dean stops ducking, holds his hand up and asks her to let him ask one thing, she does and when he asks how she can be certain that this will work she seems to slump a little.

"Because you have a soul-bond," she mutters and part of Dean really wants to know what the hell that is, and the other part is running in circles in a blind panic about the whole idea. Dean goes with the former and Seraphiel seems less annoyed by the questions than he had thought, because all of this is a sign that he is thinking of helping Castiel and that was what she came for, he hopes, because if Castiel is hiding and this leads her to him, Dean will never forgive himself. "The mark, on your arm, it is the physical manifestation of the grip he had on your soul when he pulled you from Perdition. Such things are not placed lightly, it is how he has always been able to find you, even when others are hidden to us." Her eyes flicker to Sam briefly and Dean wonders how often the lower angels were tempted to try and find Sam and put an end to him, to stop him from killing Lillith before it became a problem. It is a moot point now, however, and Dean's mind drifts back to the task, the question at hand. To risk this to help Castiel or not, because if it turns out that Seraphiel is not all she seems Cas is in for a world of trouble.

"You have every reason to think ill of me, Dean," he keeps forgetting about the creepy mind ready powers these beings all seem to have, "but I swear to you that I have no sinister intent. Castiel did what he thought was right, I should have been at his side, everything moved to fast, help me correct that." Those words, help me, bring back a wave of memories, of strangled cries and feverish sobs, begging and dying and living and _bleeding_ and Dean not being able to do a thing about it. So he sits on the bed, scrubbing a hand over his face and trying not to think of the nightmares, but they are there, at the front of his mind, pushing and driving him until all he can do is agree to it.

"What do you need me to do?"

_**Another taste of the evil I breed  
Will level you completely  
Bring to life everything that you fear  
Live in the dark and the world is threatening**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm feeling generous, really generous since I didn't think that I would get on today at all. So I give you chapter three and say a huge thank you once again to those who have read and reviewed!_

_**Let me enlighten you  
This is the way I pray  
Living just isn't hard enough  
Burn me alive inside  
Living my life's not hard enough  
Take everything away**_

What is needed of him turns out to be remarkably simple, lie back, close his eyes and breathe, all of which he can do. Her hand is cold when she touches the mark that Castiel left, tiny against the scar and he wonders abruptly why she chose such a small woman to carry her, there is a disapproving nudge against his mind, it is strange to have her this close to him, this far inside him in a way that is not even vaguely dirty, actually it is quite calming and were his nerves not _all_ jangling loudly he would have relaxed a little by now. All the same, there is that feeling of indescribable power that he cannot shake and he feels her coax, rather than drag, him into blackness, whispering Castiel's name in a voice that makes him shake and flinch from her.

He risks looking at her, as they stroll through this dark place in his mind where she seems almost content to wait until he finds whatever she is looking for, even though he has no idea what that is really. So he looks at her, more because he is curious than anything, because he was always one for taking foolish risks and what is more foolish than looking at an angel without her vessel on? She is not what he expected, though he is not sure what he expected because Cas and Uriel always kept the pretense of their vessels even in his head. He is not sure whether she cannot do that or does not want to, but she seems to be little more than a figure, humanoid, but little more, with the outlines of massive wings and eyes that stare out of a formless face. He cannot imagine how people have ever seen beauty there when all that he sees is the unnatural. Something stands out though, something that he is certain should not be on an angel, genderless form or not, and that is a brand, just on the left side above where the heart would be if angels had one, a brand that is black and surrounded by inky tendrils that spread into the glow of her form and mute her light. It looks familiar, very familiar and it takes only a moment to place it.

"Cas," he breathes the name, almost a pray on his lips though he is disgusted with himself for thinking or admitting to that and something moves around them. They are back in that room, where he is not real and Castiel is usually writhing in agony on that cold iron table. Even though Dean is upset by seeing him in such agonies, he finds this still Castiel even more disturbing, because he is not moving, for a moment Dean is afraid that this, what ever this is, is all being done too late and they have missed their opportunity to save him. Seraphiel does not let that though stop her, she moves forward and as she does Castiel seems to open his eyes and look at them, face twisted in pain and fear and total uncomprehending agony. Dean feels something inside him break at that.

"Castiel," Dean flinches away from her, the sound of her voice, her _true_ voice is terrible and even if she has muted it somewhat for his sake, it still _hurts_. Castiel knows her, though, which is a relief, Dean thinks.

"Sister," it seems that Cas can barely speak above a whisper, his voice cracked and disbelieving, his skin red, raw, coated in little rivulets of blood, dried and fresh, injuries all but healing completely before Dean's eyes. "You cannot be here, they bound you," which would explain the mark that both of them bear, although now that he can see Castiel's up close and not glowing with heat, he can see that it is worse, darker, deeper, bleeding into Castiel's borrowed skin and he wonders if Jimmy is aware of everything that happens, even as Seraphiel begins to ask her questions and Dean sees the shadows shift, feels that other presence in room that he knows can only mean bad things for Castiel.

"Dean!" A more broken cry, a sound that cuts into the human makes him want to run from what he knows is coming, knows that he cannot and that makes Castiel's next plea all that much more painful. "Dean, help me. Please, help me." Dean screams as the brand is used once more on the angel, screams all his rage and all of his helplessness out, wants to reach forward and stop it all as Castiel's cries mingle with his own, as the brand in his chest flares more brightly than it has before. He only stops yelling when he feels the now familiar tug of someone trying to wake him, realises that Seraphiel is already gone and he has been left alone in this place with the torture and the memories of the things that he did in Hell, that were done to him, overlaying the things that are happening now and making it all that much more terrible.

"We'll find you, Cas," he promises as the pull becomes too much, hearing way his voice breaks with the pressure of his shouts. "I swear it, I'll find you, just hang on." With those words he is pulled away and all he can hear, even as his eyes spring open in the dimly lit motel room, is Castiel's continued screams and cries and sobs and it breaks Dean's already battered heart.

After his little jaunt to Castiel's Torture World with Seraphiel, Dean does not see her again for several weeks, though it feels like years, during that time he continues to dream of his angel. He takes no pleasure in his dreams anymore, fears to even close his eyes, because every time he does Castiel is there, naked, vulnerable and _screaming_ and _that_ is the worst part of all of it, the screams and the cries and the yells. Naked and vulnerable, Dean can handle, even the blood and other bodily fluids but the _sounds_, the incomprehensible cries and the endless repeat of words, of _please_ and _Father_ and _Dean_ over and over, interspersed with other words that are gradually becoming little more than tortured rambling.

Every night, Dean is forced to watch, every night Sam shakes him awake and this is somehow worse than the nightmares of Hell, because Dean fought against those, _could_ fight against those and he had fought hard. But this, Dean cannot fight against this, not now that he knows that it is _real_. Real, which means that as long as Dean keeps on dreaming this never ending horror, Castiel is still alive and there is still a chance that he can be rescued, still a chance that he can be saved. As the weeks go by, Dean forces himself to cling to that simple hope, clinging to a tiny spark that dims a little bit more everyday and the longer that this all continues, the less hope Dean has. Dean tortured souls, he knows that signs, Castiel is slipping and soon there will be nothing left.

Dean is terrified of that. Terrified of losing Castile, blames himself for the position that the angel is now in, because if he had not asked, had not pushed and prodded, demanded and shouted, the world would still be ending, but Castiel would not be going through all of this. So, yes, as if Dean did not already have enough self loathing and disgust on board, he now has this to add to all of it. He is _tired_, just so _damn tired_ of being this one man pity parade, of only sleeping to wake up screaming, of Sam's face twisted in a mask of concern and his own self pity and the personal anguish that comes with being the one who managed to set Lucifer free from Hell, Lucifer who seems to be enjoying himself at the moment rather than raining hellfire and brimstone down on them all, though Dean supposes that comes later on anyway. So what with Sam being a bit more focussed on his own guilt and self distaste and Dean seemingly having the weight of the world, literally, on his shoulders, there is not much sleep to go around and no one is really sleeping overly great when they do manage to get some shut eye.

This experience has taught the hunter _something_ though, even if it is something that the hunter had not really wanted to know, still does not want to know if he dwells on it, which he does, at length, it has taught him that he and Castiel are connected, at the _soul_ level if you believe in such a thing. It is terrifying in some ways, but it also explains so much, like the dreams, the way that Seraphiel had been able to _use_ him to find Cas, the fact that Dean actually _gave_ a damn what Castiel had thought, still does care what Cas thinks, and that even when things got rough and the angel was yanked back to bible camp, Dean is still able to trust him, still trusted him to do the right thing, still needs Cas in his life, as one more person to turn to and one more reason to fight, fight to get Castiel back. Dean knows, is downright certain, even if Seraphiel will not confirm it, that his words and actions got Castiel into this mess, because as strongly as Dean seems to be affected by this bond, Castiel must have been too, which means that is must be _Dean's_ words and _Dean's_ actions that get the angel _out_ of it again.

Fact of the matter is, thought, Dean is tired, so tired, of the nightmares and the pitying looks and he is starting to flag now. His reactions are slowing, just a little bit off mark in a way that is not quite dangerous in a hunt, but is rapidly getting that way. Quickly getting to the point where Dean knows that any hope he has of defeating Lucifer is diminishing with every moment of sleep that he loses over this and he is on edge, _right_ on the very _edge_, close to calling Zachariah and telling him to find Cas and free him before Dean says to hell with it, quite, fucking, literally. To hell with the angels and the demons and _Lucifer_. To hell with Sam and Dean's wild pity party. Just to let the world end, because at the moment Dean is losing the will to _live_ right now, let alone fight and he simply cannot _do_ this anymore.

Dean is close to breaking down when Seraphiel finally turns up again. After weeks with little to no sleep and only nightmares when he _does_ close his eyes means that he is seriously close to it, but, it would appear, so is the angel. Her face, or the vessel's face depending on how Dean's weary brain choses to look at it, is drawn, dark marks under grey eyes that only serves to make them more pronounced, but also more sickly looking. She is jumpy too, appearing in the middle of their motel room right in front of their eyes, her own flickering everywhere, tense, like she is expecting someone to turn up and grab her and she is clutching desperately at a wrapped package, long and thin.

"Sera....." she cuts Sam off with a glance and a shake of her head.

"I found him."

_**Return to me  
Return to me  
Return to me  
Turn to me  
Leave me no one  
Turn to me  
Return to me  
Return to me  
Turn to me  
Cast aside**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


	4. Chapter 4

_So this is the end of this one. There will be a sequel, possibly, that I will hopefully have the motivation to have up by next week, working title at the moment is Angel/Angels, not sure which but I am not beyond a little self promotion it would seem. Thank you again to those who have reviewed and to those who have alerted and fave'd and just plain read, hope to see you at the sequel, maybe, if I can finish it, I don't like posting if I haven't finished writing._

_**Return to me  
Return to me  
Return to me  
Turn to me  
Leave me no one  
Turn to me  
Return to me  
Return to me  
You've made me turn away**_

"I found him," Seraphiel whispers, eyes darting ceiling ward, back to Dean, then away again, to Sam a piece of paper in her free hand. "Take your brother's car," she instructs, "go to this address, hurry, we do not have much time." Dean nods once, sharply, telling Sam that this is alright with nothing more than a look, more grateful than ever that despite recent events they can still communicate without words. Dean knows that he has a part to play in this, but that Seraphiel obviously has other plans for him, that Sam needs a head start. "Dean," grey eyes are now filling with a fire that Dean has never seen there before, eyes that she turns on him as Sam closes the door, "we must handle this carefully, they must not find out that I have done this."

"What will happen to you if they do find out?" Something cold clenches in Dean's gut, her words are a confirmation of something that he has begun to suspect anyway.

"The same thing that they are doing to Castiel. My superiors do not look kindly on disobedience, Castiel was to be the promise of our fates should we follow his example." Right there and then, Dean knows that he really is right, that the angels have done this to Cas and all because of something that Dean wanted. He nods, a silent promise in his eyes that he will protect her for as long as it is in his power to do so, protect her from her own kind. "You will need this, Uriel used it to murder his own. Be careful, I have no idea what effect it will have on you." She hands him the long package and he almost drops it in surprise, the weight of it taking him off guard when she had handled it like it was made of air.

He unwraps it, just enough to expose the brilliant silver of Lucifer's blade, his eyes going wider, his surprise increasing with each passing second. She reaches forward, soft hands covering the sword and eyes a little wild at the sight of it.

"Where did you get this?" He asks, aware now that this is far more serious than he had previously thought. She is not giving him a way to stop angels when he goes to rescue Cas, she is giving him a way to _kill_ them.

"It is better that you do not know the details, only know that Castiel has friends among our superiors that he is not aware of." Cryptic as her response is, it gives Dean what he needs to know, there is another angel involved, another angel putting themself at risk so that Dean can get what he wants. It is another life that he has affected, another life that he has the potential to screw up. "I will take you where you need to go," she continues, like she has not noticed the way that Dean's thoughts drifted from the task at hand for a second. "Castiel has one guard and one torturer. You will need to kill them _both_ before you free him. If they sense that he is trying to escape, they will call for those in charge and then they will kill him, they will kill Sam and you will be taken some place where you will be safe, lock you away until such a time as they actually need you. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," but he does not, not really, does not understand _why_ they chose to punish Castiel like this. Does not understand why people keep doing this, does not understand why _angels_ keep doing this, siding with him in matters and taking action in his name in ways that will only serve to get them killed. "What about you?" He asks, because he has to know, has to know what she will do, has this morbid need to know exactly how much people will sacrifice for him, for his selfish needs and wishes.

"I will run and I will continue to do so until they find me," she is matter of fact, now, almost as though she has become resigned to her eventual fate. "When they do, if they are merciful they will kill me. They are rarely merciful, Dean."

"And the vessel?" Dean asks it, not because he needs to hear that yet another life will be lost because of him, but because he wants to hear that she will _not_ be dragged into this whole mess. "That poor girl that you've pushed into this, what about her?"

"If I could leave her, I would," there is regret there, but also the glimmer of something else in her eyes, something troubling. "But we are bound together and this brand does not just affect _her_ physical form, as you are well aware," she is becoming agitated now, fearful of the future. "We do not have _time_ for this, we must leave _now_." She grasps the hand that still holds the covered sword, raising it but keeping a safe distance in front of him. "When we get there I will need to leave immediately otherwise those inside will know that I am there. Castiel is in the basement, you must kill the guard and you _must_ kill the torturer, _do you understand_?" He nods. "Good." With that she has stepped forward, hand still gripping Dean's, holding the sword in place, raised, and there is a sickening harsh, wet, sound as it slides into her, cutting through cloth and clothing and flesh, sinking in just where the brand would lie on the vessel as she releases his hand and raises an arm that trembles.

"No," Dean hisses, pulling the blade, sees the bloom of scarlet blood across pale blue and she taps him, hard, on the forehead.

"Thank you," she whispers and the motel room vanishes, he is in an alley, dark, smelly and there is only one door.

So he is here, in this place where he can save Castiel or die trying, with Seraphiel probably still in his motel room, dying for all he knows and really he should be there, to watch her fate and remember it, but he is here and he has a job to do, so he puts that out of his mind and tries the door. Of course it is unlocked, as he knew it would be, angels not having need of locks or fear of break ins.

The building has the signs of a place long abandoned, even if the angels have been using it for months, there are no lights and for a second Dean wishes that he had brought a flashlight, but only for a second, because then he realises that if there are no lights, the angels have excellent night vision and he needs to be careful.

By the time he reaches the stairs Dean has seen no sign of the guard, is wondering if Seraphiel has made a mistake and her information was wrong. Mercifully, though, there has been no screaming, Dean hopes this is because there has been a pause in Castiel's torture, not that it is because the angel has finally given up. Difficult as it is to walk quietly in heavy work boots, it is harder still to go _down stairs_ in them, fortunately, Dean has a great deal of practice. Which is lucky, because that guard he was told about, happens to be at the bottom of them, his back to Dean and he is more than likely watching for an escape attempt on Castiel's part rather than for aid coming from behind. A sword thrust to the back of the neck is all it takes and Dean covers his eyes as the angel's dead grace flashes brightly through the basement.

Dean can hear Castiel's voice now as he moves forward, guilt beginning to gnaw away at him once more for the life that he just took, for the life that he is about to take, for lives that he has already taken. All of this is Dean's fault, he knows, all the events that have lead to Dean opening the door to Castiel's cell, all of them are down to Dean's selfishness. Cas being tortured, all because he helped Dean, the Apocalypse because Dean could not let Sam die, selfishly sold his soul to get Sam back and then broke on the rack. Dad dead because Dean was dying, refused to go with Tessa out of a misplaced belief that his family actually _needed _him. Sam dragged back into all this because Dean could not face trying to find his father alone. Even Sam breaking the last seal, because Dean did not do what he should have done, did not kill Ruby when he had the chance, did not kill _Sam_ when he realised just how far gone, just how dangerous his little brother had become. So right now, Dean feels guilty, guilty as, well, guilty as Hell, but he is also _angry_, angry because all of this, _everything_ has happened, not just because he is selfish, but because that very part of his nature has been manipulated, on _both_ sides, from day one. Even Yellow Eyes, old Azazel himself, had known that if something had happened to Sam, Dean would have raced to sell his soul to get his little brother back rather than live without him. When he sees the angel stood over Castiel, the angel whose pale hands drip with the brilliant crimson of Cas's fresh blood, Dean feels his anger reach boiling point, feels it so powerfully that the sword goes through the unknown angel's neck like a knife through butter and this time there is no remorse.

The anger drains out of him when he looks at Castiel properly, the angel is still begging, blue eyes clouded with agony and he is forced to look away, forced to look at the cold steel of the cuffs as he battles to release his friend, pausing only to shove the blade under the rough leather of his belt needing both hands for the work and trying not to focus on the blood, not to focus on the fact that Castiel is naked, completely helpless, tries to ignore the part of him that is still in Hell, the part that is _tempted_ by all of this while he keeps chanting Cas's name as he works.

Finally the shackles are off and Dean knows, feels it in his gut, that Sam will be here soon, that he needs to be out of this place as quickly as possible, that he and Sam need to get Cas back to the motel room, treat his wounds, grab their stuff and be gone. Get as far away as they can, put together some more of those hex bags that Ruby showed them, the one good thing that the demon bitch _ever_ managed to do, keep running, keep Cas safe, keep Sam safe, kill Lucifer, not necessarily in that order.

"C'mon, Cas," he mutters, "lets get you out of here," helps Castiel sit, helps him to down from the table, grunts as the angel slides downwards, supporting him as best he can thought the man, angel, is a dead weight in his arms. He changes strategy then, awkwardly taking the still bleeding angel into a fireman's lift, holding him close and moving with more speed than grace, stumbling up the stairs and out, where Sam really is waiting for him. Sam who swears when he sees Castiel, when he sees all the blood, who opens the car door without a word and helps Dean lay the angel down on the back seat and cover him with a blanket, one that quickly begins to darken as blood starts to seep through and Dean slides into the drivers seat, Sam in the passenger seat not a moment later.

There is no music as they drive away, no sense of accomplishment and no words, just the sound of Castiel's breathless moans and the engine straining as Dean puts his foot to the floor, running.

_**Living just isn't hard enough  
Burn me alive inside  
Living my life's not hard enough  
They take everything from you  
Living just isn't hard enough  
Burn me alive, inside  
Living my life's not hard enough  
Take everything away**_

_Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care._

_Artemis_


End file.
